So Manqui just got either ninety six or sixty six years. He lives his entire life in a residence called homeostasis «A.TH.A.H.E.». It is still difficult for him to decide. One age sets him wise, the other strong. One shows him ugly, the other shiny. One, snappy and careless, the other slow and careful. Writer, reader. Listener or musician.

Thanks to the wall mounted timers of his home, that can count both in the neochronic after sections system and in the old time before sections system, he is split minded on which measuring system he prefers. But he is sure that the first disc of his favorite composer was re-released in the winter of the last year before the great dissection.

Inside the metal storage box of homeostasis A.TH.A.H.E., he shuffles his music library and with one arm he locates and puts the first album of Ice Atan, titled the island of a thousand waves, inside the old optical disc playback machine.

In his other arm he holds his somewhat of a birthday gift, a newfound very old book. The title shows discolored. “Delusions of youth and ages” by Reese Cerussites.       

By browsing in pairs of pages, he realized that this was an impressive version of a set of memoirs. Stuck in the middle, he observed that some letters protruded mismatched. Despite that peculiarity, he decided to approach this old project from the beginning, treating each excerpt in default appearance spot.

The whole first half seems to last until then, the last days before the new era of the post earth after sections. He swiftly realizes that the years of which the events are described in the book stories, coincide with the first thirty years of his own life.
Be that a good opportunity for creative nostalgia, he thinks.           

Born in Two Thousand and Fifteen or otherwise Thirty Before Sections, he just got ninety six or sixty six years. In spite of his advanced age, for the standards of the people of that distant era, Manqui does not appear old at all.

As a child he had experienced a very rare syndrome where his body’s growth was much slower than a normal human and his aging mechanisms were almost neutralized. So at five he seemed barely born, at thirty five he looked like a teenager and at seventy he formed his first wrinkle.

Even beyond his gene particularity, the proper diet and exercise he followed as the principle of his life are responsible as well for his excellent physical and spiritual preservation.

He remembers that from the big dissection and on he was forced to live isolated inside the special metal boxes of homeostasis “Α.ΤΗ.Α.Η.Ε.”; to store and drain everything attributed to his manual labor by handling his aquaponic farm. So he always had more than he needed for survival. To avoid over feeding and clotting of the system he learned how to be very spartan and tidy with his productions and recycle everything in its entirety.   

Then, the chance that he can live even longer was born to the fact that he has never been sick off schedule. His immunity to infections and illnesses is a product of safe treatment which he began to implement at the first First of the new age after sections. Since then, however, he must always be in a programmed artificially induced disease and follow the appropriate healing seasonal diet for the retention of his natural high body healing ability.       

Physical strength and stamina, however, were never enough, but certainly were never minimal. To turn his disadvantage into an advantage, he uses and wears a custom nanomechanical exoskeleton. It is a support that always gives him enough speed to move without consuming much energy. Thus some big amounts of energy remain that need to be balanced so he has to recycle more and more in demanding mental work.      

Now, with as much as it remains, he finally reaches to the mysterious letters and to whatever might be hidden in, on a path that calls him to rediscover himself again.

It is never too late to say never, he thought, and resumed reading while listening to the original version of an Ice Atan’s song on symbols, institutions, wealth and punishment.

Beehive, a poem by Ice Atan.

Right into a juicy hive, I happen to find the hexagon swastiga
It is a beehive cell, with a door made in wax of gold.
There lies a hidden treasure, a bee to the sign in scorpion.
Always guarded by, a spider on a web. A Flag on the web is a Flag on a spider on a flag on a web.